Funeral
by Soaring Grayson
Summary: Dick Grayson at the funeral of Wally West. One-shot.


**Funeral**

"_The smallest coffins are the heaviest" - Six Word Stories_

o.O.o

Dick stood staring at himself in front of a full length mirror. His black hair was messy and wild and his skin was deathly pale - he hadn't been eating, or sleeping - and the dark bags under his eyes stood out against his face hauntingly.

He wasn't moving except for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His suit looked out of place, and he felt restricted within it. It was confining. He felt claustrophobic. He hated _why_ he was wearing it. He gripped the tie tightly in his hand, refusing to knot what he had come to think of as his own metaphorical noose. He couldn't bring himself to put it on.

He felt hollow - like someone had carved out his insides and forgotten to put them back. He felt like a piece was missing - a vital piece. Something he couldn't live without, but that his body was refusing to accept - couldn't accept.

He stared into his own blue eyes and noticed how empty they looked, despite the fact that they were slowly brimming with unshed tears_. (Don't let them fall, don't let them fall, don't let them fall.) _

He sawwithin his eyes enough pain to last a lifetime.

Why was this happening? Why did this _keep_ happening? _God_, what was _wrong_ with him? His life had turned into a series of tragedies, one after the other.

"Master Dick, sir... are you alright?"

Alfred's voice floated hesitantly across the room.

Dick didn't answer.

The old man's footsteps padded almost silently over to where Dick stood, his eyes unfocused and unseeing at his reflection.

Gently prying the black tie from an iron grip, Alfred began tying it around Dick's neck loosely, folding the white collar neatly over it and then pulling to tighten.

"Alfred."

The whisper was so quiet, Alfred wasn't quite sure he had heard right.

He stood in front of the young master and put his hands on his arms above the elbows and gave a comforting squeeze.

"Master Dick, they're waiting-"

"Alfred - I can't, I just- I don't... there isn't... what do I...I can't Alfie... I-"

He started breathing quickly. Gasps of air in and out erratically, panicked, uncontrollable.

Tears fell from blue, blue eyes forming rivers on pale, pale cheeks. Dick collapsed into Alfred's arms and cried like he was eight years old again in a world that didn't make sense.

They sat down and Alfred said nothing as he patted his back soothingly, knowing that there was nothing to say. Dick had lost so much - he didn't deserve this.

Once Dick had gathered himself he breathed in heavily and let out a long sigh. He stood up and walked back over to the mirror. He stood staring at his reflection for a while - _(am I dead inside?) - _before straightening his tie and smoothing the wrinkles that had formed on his shirt.

He looked at his shoes and back up again, then towards Alfred who had stood up.

Neither said anything as they walked out of the room, down the stairs and out through the front doors of Wayne Manor into the car.

Neither said anything as they drove to the cemetery.

Neither said anything as they walked through the iron gates that creaked and groaned and moaned as they passed through.

Neither said anything as they walked through the headstones of strangers, of Waynes, of Graysons.

They approached the quiet company that had gathered around a headstone.

The crunch of grass beneath their feet sounded as loud as a thunderstorm, and with every step, Dick felt colder, emptier.

There were verses read and stories told, though Dick couldn't bring himself to listen. He remained standing only because Alfred was next to him giving him strength.

Dick stood still and let tears race down his face as he watched his friends and family weep and place roses on the ground in front of a rock that meant nothing but meant everything, and he could hardly bear to look at it.

It was just a rock, for god sake... but it _wasn't_.

It was a _gravestone_. It was _his_ gravestone, and he could barely look at it without breaking down.

_How could _I_ have been so stupid? How could _you_ have been so stupid?_

_Why was the world so goddamn unfair?_

A small and slender had grabbed his and squeezed tightly.

As the company dressed in black slowly drifted away, Dick and Artemis stood before the empty grave of Wally West, shedding endless tears and sharing infinite heartbreak.

_Wallace Rudolph West_

_Friend, Son, Lover, Saviour_

_Loved and dearly missed_

_November 11, 1994 - June 20, 2016_

**A/N - ouch, my heart. Reaaally short one-shot. I was feeling insanely stressed and needed to write something... this was the result. It is super late so sorry if there are any typos. Quote from six word stories - super awesome website. Tell me what ya think? Thanks for reading.**


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